


just once

by whereshiphappens (xiiis16)



Category: Little Sea (Band)
Genre: And sad stuff, Angst, M/M, and not very specific smut but smut nonetheless i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiiis16/pseuds/whereshiphappens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a matter of time before he loses Andy is what he’s saying. It’s a matter of time before their relationship changes and they <em>have</em> to drift away. It’s a matter of time, until Andy is someone else’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfgenes (ruperts)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruperts/gifts).



> this was prompted by [wolfgenes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruperts/pseuds/wolfgenes) on my [tumblr](http://www.whereshiphappens.tumblr.com), and then Hattie ([rory_the_dragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon)) sorta told me to put it here and i just, ya know, why the fuck not, eh? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> it's unbeta'd so probably has some mistakes, but i hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

They’re finally left alone after Dylan and Leighton - the first two to finally agree this rehearsal wasn’t going anywhere and that they should stop wasting time and call it a day - decide they should just leave and get back to their hotel. Andy doesn’t say much, shrugs and nods, gets his phone out of his pocket and starts thumbing away, distracted. Oliver looks at him, just a glance as he takes his guitar’s strap from his shoulders and then he looks at the floor, jaw tense, lips stretched in a line. 

It’s as he’s putting it back on its rest that he feels Leighton’s hand on his shoulder to draw his attention. He looks at him and Leighton has this look in his eyes, asks “you okay?” in a reluctant tone, like he’s not sure he should be asking it. 

“Yeah,” he’s quick to reassure him.

He knows why he’s asking; every single mistake on today’s rehearsal was Oliver’s fault and things as simple as chord changes or little riffs in the middle of the songs he kept forgetting or messing up the timing. His head was elsewhere. 

He steals a glance, a quick one in Andy’s way that he hopes Leighton doesn’t catch (he does) and sighs, “yeah it’s just one of those days.” Leighton nods with a little smile, dismissively, like he knows exactly what he’s talking about and it’s nothing to worry about, so he lets it go (because he saw that glance, but he knows to pretend he didn’t).

Andy is on his phone like he’s been all day for the last days they’ve been out of Sydney. It’s weird seeing him so attached to the device and knowing the reason leaves a bitter taste on Ollie’s tongue and a forming lump on his throat. He had no idea things were this bad. He had no idea what they were doing wasn’t just joking around anymore, boys being _stupid boys,_  until the day it became obvious in long charged silences and jealous looks that no longer were just playful. Until it became obvious in how bothered he is with Andy’s attention shifting to someone else.

It’s one of those things, you see? One of those things that gradually change and grow right before your eyes and you never notice the difference and then one day something shifts abruptly, calls your eyes and your attention to it, and  _oh._

They don’t talk of it, ever. They don’t acknowledge the  _something_  that charges their once comfortable silences, they don’t say a thing about the looks that take too long, or the mindless touching and how  _too affectionate_  it is (they ignore it instead), and they don’t say a word when the line is so close either of them can touch it, can  _cross it_ , but neither will.

Oliver is afraid of it, afraid of getting too close to that  _stupid_  line, afraid to touch it let alone cross it. Because when he did, that night when he felt bold enough to take another step closer to Andy and allow himself to breathe the same air as him, shielded by the darkness of the club, he saw Andy’s hesitation all over his face, in flashes of light that hit his features with every beat of the music. He felt his breathing falter, saw him swallowing as his eyes dropped down for just a fraction of a second. Felt his hand tremble by the side of his body when Ollie’s hand ghosted over it, not daring to touch,  _never_  daring to touch. And after, when he broke the spell and took a deep breath and a step back and left Ollie there, everything was different.

So Oliver doesn’t get close anymore, because last time he did, it pushed Andy away and into someone else’s arms. 

(But that shaky breath, that nervous swallowing, that trembling hand, those dropping eyes - they meant something, and that’s what stings the most.)

Even on the trip back to the hotel, Andy doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone, not even when he answers something Dylan asks or laughs at their jokes halfheartedly. 

The atmosphere is weird, and everyone can sense it and nobody says a word. Usually Oliver doesn’t let it come to this, he’s too good at putting a smile on his face, he’s too good at repressing the stuff that gnaws at his heart when he’s with people, to make them believe he’s perfectly okay, he knows how to shut it all up until he can deal with it alone, it’s not at all difficult. 

But, you see,  _today is one of those days,_ and he finds that the lame excuse he gave Leighton isn’t all that lame after all.

Admitting it, even in his head, even just to himself, how much he cares for the other boy and how much he can’t take losing what he had with him is crushing. Is like a terrible weight on his chest that doesn’t let him breathe and threatens to destroy his heart, and he feels the  _inevitability_ of it with every step Andy takes in front of him instead of by his side, and every smile he gives the device in his hand and every fucking minute of absolute  _silence_ that goes on between them.

It’s suffocating.

Because it’s been  _weeks,_ Ollie feels more and more like he can’t reach Andy anymore and he doesn’t know  _why_ , doesn’t know what to do.

When he enters the room he shares with Andy after the other boy, he closes the door, leans back against it and looks at him feeling his heart beating hopeless in his throat and the most overwhelming helplessness sensation taking over him. It’s like his hands are tied, as well as his feet, like his tongue doesn’t work anymore and there’s a wall of glass keeping him away from Andy. It chews his heart up, it builds up inside his chest too fast and he can’t breathe.

So when he talks, it sounds breathless that desperate,  _desperate,_ “ _Andy_ …” he calls.

Andy’s phone is back in his pocket and he turns his head to look at Oliver as he slowly sits by the foot of the bed, doesn’t say a word and then chooses to stare right ahead instead, swallowing. His eyes drop, because he knows.

The silence makes it worse and Oliver’s jaw sets, he closes his eyes like he wants to take a hold of himself, stop this ridiculous exchange before it goes any further because it’s stupid and none of this should be happening-  _would be happening_  if Ollie hadn’t dared getting so close to that  _stupid fucking line_.

He tries again, sounds steadier when he repeats, “Andy,” but the older boy doesn’t look at him this time so Oliver steps further into the room, closer to Andy, but with his bed between them.

(he doesn’t know where the line is.)

“We need- we need to talk,” his voice falters with the lump on his throat getting bigger and he makes himself stand there; stay steady until Andy turns to him, doesn’t even properly look at him when he says “if this is about rehearsal then-”

Oliver interrupts him with a scoff, looks up and around with his jaw tense and fingers curling into fists by his side because  _Andy knows._  He knows what this is about and he’s still deflecting it, he’s still not facing it and it drives Oliver crazy, makes him  _angry_.

“Andy, please,” he says somewhat condescending, asking Andy to cut the bullshit, to not play dumb without saying the words. 

It’s tense, the way Andy turns his body away again, saying, “I have no idea what you want to talk about, then,” and Ollie is sure his voice shakes somewhere along the sentence. And there it is, that distance, that coldness that was  _never_  there between them before, that started creeping its way into the space between them just weeks ago, and Ollie has no idea how to get rid of it - so he steps on it; he goes around the bed and right into Andy’s visual camp.

“You have to  _stop_ that!” is what comes tumbling out of Oliver’s mouth, a shaky mess of angry words that automatically have Andy standing up and moving towards the balcony door, like a reflex, like he could escape through there. But Ollie crosses his path, doesn’t let him through, tells him “You have to stop, just stop that, fucking-  _stop.”_

There’s a hand on Andy’s chest and it takes Oliver’s brain some time to recall when he put it there. Andy’s eyebrows are raised, knitted in a conflicted frown and his lips are pressed shut and all this speaks volumes, even when not a single word is being pronounced - _especially_ because of it. They are brought back to that moment in that club back home where suddenly everything shifted and they see it in each others’ eyes. 

Ollie stares at him and with his hand on his chest like this, he feels like, for a moment, the distance is gone and Andy is right there within reach and he needs to hold on. Maybe it’s that exact thought that has him curling his fingers around the fabric of Andy’s shirt, gripping it like he’s afraid Andy will just slip away again.

In the middle of the silence filled with their unsteady breathing, Ollie finds his courage, is ready to be the first to talk,  _really talk_  about it, when the vibration of Andy’s phone is heard loud and clear.

And Andy doesn’t hesitate when he goes to take it out, is the thing, like he was safe by that sound, like it was a life line and Oliver feels another piece of him break at it. At how eager he is to get out of this.

The older boy swallows as he looks at the screen, “It’s, uh…” he starts, like he’s ready to present an excuse, but Oliver’s hand slips out of his shirt and he tells him that “I know who it is…” in a neutral tone, like suddenly, he stopped caring.

(as if…)

Of course he knows who it is. She’s all Andy has eyes for lately, it’s only a matter of time before- 

Oliver closes his eyes, exhales and doesn’t allow himself to keep thinking because thinking is only making it worse and thinking isn’t taking him anywhere so he stops thinking. And he talks.

“Why?” he asks. Somewhere in his mind, he knows the question doesn’t make much sense alone like that, but he decided to stop thinking. He looks at Andy again, more intently. “Why did you back off? Why did you step away?”

Both of them know what he’s talking about. Ollie’s looking at him almost angry, like he can’t understand no matter how hard he tries why did Andy step back when Oliver leaned in, and why did nothing ever happen when Ollie could see clear in Andy’s eyes he wanted something to happen as bad as Oliver.  _Why_?

“ _Ollie_ ,” Andy starts and there’s a weakness in his voice that has Oliver stepping closer, again and Andy shaking his head slightly, like he’s begging Oliver not to; like there’s only so much Andy can take and say no to.

“You wanted it,”Ollie whispers and it’s like a switch was turned and the atmosphere in the room changes to something tiny and intimate. He reaches out slowly, enough for his hand to be ghosting Andy’s without touching, “I saw it- I see it,” he keeps going in a quiet voice, like loud sounds could break their bubble, “you want it.”

He’s in his space again, he’s sharing his air again and this time there’s no music to cover the loud beating of his heart sounding in his ears, there’s no darkness to hide the way Andy’s lips part and his eyes drop down to Oliver’s mouth. Andy closes his eyes, but he doesn’t move. His face contorts, like he’s in physical pain and he takes a deep breath like he’s preparing for something.

He opens his mouth and he says, “I have someone,” in a tone of voice loud enough to rip their bubble apart and have Ollie’s heart sinking to his feet. Just like that.

Hearing it like this from his mouth and so out loud is like a trigger that dissolves all the anger and gives place to hurt and… emptiness. That feeling comes back, the one that gnaws at his heart and makes him feel trapped and helpless to reach out to Andy.

Andy is so close, and still Oliver feels like he’s losing him because he got too close for comfort. 

Oliver takes a deep breath with his eyes closed, tries to swallow the lump on his throat and ignore the sting in his chest because this feels too much, this feels ridiculous and dumb and he needs to take a hold of himself.

“How long?” he asks, going for that neutral tone again that this time it doesn’t come off right - his voice still shakes. In all honesty, Oliver doesn’t know why he asked, because he doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t  _need_  to know anything about her and what she has with Andy. He doesn’t know why he asked…

“It’s-” Andy’s voice is not steady either and it makes it worse, it makes it so much worse knowing he’s trying so hard to stay away from Ollie and that nothing Oliver can do will make him  _not_ fight it. “We’re not a thing yet,” he tries again, “but we’re working towards it.” His head is held high and his eyes don’t face Ollie, who looks down at his feet anyway, nods.

“So it’s a matter of time.” Ollie states in a quiet tone, afraid to let Andy hear the cracks in his voice.

It’s a matter of time before he loses Andy is what he’s saying. It’s a matter of time before their relationship changes and they  _have_ to drift away. It’s a matter of time, until Andy is someone else’s.

(Andy nods, but it’s not like Oliver needed it to know.)

There’s a clock counting down on them now; one that Andy put there for whatever fucked up reason that Ollie doesn’t understand. He can’t understand because when he looks at Andy he sees all he’s trying to fight off, all the feelings, all the wants and he can’t find the reason why he’s doing it, why he’s fucking them up so badly when Oliver can see he’s barely keeping it together himself and this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting Oliver.

“So,” he tries to talk, but the situation is getting to him, is working him up and his eyes sting and it’s impossible to talk, “is it gonna be official like, what, next time you see her?” he doesn’t even try to hide the tremor in his voice, doesn’t really care anymore how fucking pathetic he must look.

But the thing is, he sees Andy’s eyes red too and how the keeps swallowing like he can feel the same lump on his throat.

“Are you going to just go to her and that’s it?” Ollie keeps pressing, “And that’s it,  _on us?”_ his voice breaks, he needs to stop because he feels the tears too close and he  _can’t, he just can’t._

Andy closes his eyes as Oliver talks, brings his hand up to comb through his hair in a nervous gesture and he turns from side to side, pacing a couple steps but not really going far. At the last part, he looks at Oliver and there’s a look on his face, harsher and more out of control when he says “there is  _no_  us, Oliver. There’s nothing here, there _can’t_ be.”

He says it like he needs to get it through Oliver’s head, like he needs to convince him and he’s been trying for too long and he’s losing his patience, about to start pulling hairs.

(But mostly he says it like he needs to get it through his own head.)

Oliver moves fast, crowds Andy’s space and the abruptness of his movements is what makes the tear sliding down his face fall in the first place - he wipes it fast before he grips Andy’s shirt, before he pushes up against his body and their foreheads touch and it’s too fast for Andy to push him off. It’s too fast, and Ollie’s got his eyes closed and sounds _desperate_  when he says, “But I  _need_ there to be.” 

He pushes closer, he angles his chin up as his hands move to the sides of Andy’s head but he doesn’t mean to kiss him. Their noses brush, Andy’s mouth is ajar taken by surprise and his hands come over Ollie’s but he isn’t sure if he means to take them off, or hold on to him.

“I need an  _us,_ Andy,” Oliver begs, breathless, quiet but charged with emotion. His hand comes down, moves fast down Andy’s chest and he grips his shirt again maybe to prove a point, or maybe to keep him from running this time. 

“ _Ollie_ ,” Andy begs back, but for a whole different thing. 

Still with his eyes closed, the intensity of the moment, the loud thump of his heart and the crazy velocity of his blood cursing though his veins leave Oliver light headed and he has nothing holding him back or holding him together; he feels like he could shatter at any moment, come crumbling down in Andy’s arms.

So with a sob and a sense of urgency, feeling like it’s his last hope at a chance for  _this_ , like this is his life line, Oliver pulls him closer still, with a hand on the back of his neck and fingers playing with his hairs.

Whispers, “ _Please,_ Andy. Just  _once_.”

It’s something in the words, Oliver is sure. Or maybe it’s something about the desperation in his voice or the urgency with which he holds him and pulls him closer. It’s something there.

Because a sound like a whimper or a groan leaves Andy’s mouth but it’s not too loud - Oliver catches it because he’s too close - and Andy has a hand cupping Ollie’s jaw and it’s his time to push up against him despite already being too close; he angles Oliver’s chin up and he crosses the line - he kisses his mouth.

(Oliver’s brain goes blank, he’s sure, but he kisses back  _automatically)_

It’s the first kiss and it feels like the last. Feels like the world might as well end tomorrow and this is their last chance, because it is, and they act like it.

They don’t waste time with stupid mindless and slow caresses, they don’t waste time losing themselves in each other’s eyes or patiently studying each other’s bodies and reactions. They take what they can have as fast and they can have it because there’s a countdown on them and all that is futile.

Their lips are rough and desperate and their teeth clash specially when they fall onto the bed tangled in each other and fighting their clothes off, but they don’t stop to laugh about it because  _that’s wasting time_. Oliver’s t-shirt gets stuck when he’s straddling Andy’s lap and trying to take it off without sitting up away from Andy and he’s ready to rip it off when Andy sets it free and tosses it away.

Andy’s movements are fast and sudden when he pushes Ollie to sit instead and chases him anyway, kissing him again as his hand wraps around Ollie’s waist to steady him and he moves up on the bed until his back is against the headboard. Ollie’s hands are on his shoulders and Andy’s are pushing the small of his back towards him, makes Oliver arch into him and Andy’s mouth comes down to Ollie’s chest, kisses what he can find before he’s up on his neck right at the base were it meets his chest and Andy attaches his mouth there, bites down, wraps his lips around the skin between his lips and sucks the air in. 

Oliver whimpers, his hands rise from Andy’s shoulders to his hair and he pulls him closer as he shamelessly starts rutting against Andy’s tummy. There’s no time for shame, there’s only time for them, there’s only time to take as much as they can.

They find a way to get the rest of their clothes out of the way and they find a way make it work, to touch each other, even if they weren’t prepared for it.

There’s no magic bottle of lube hidden, there’s no random condom lying around when the second to last thing in their minds was to be with someone else. (the last being be with each other.)

There’s only rough hands softened by spit and desperate willing bodies ready to rut against each other. There’s Andy holding on to Oliver’s waist and guiding his hips against his and Oliver’s hand wrapped around both of them, offering something to fuck. 

There’s no hot words being exchanged and no pornographic moaning to drive them crazy.

There’s only foreheads pressing against each other and gasping mouths giving up on kissing but not on the proximity, choosing to stay there and breathe the same air. There’s desperate hands reaching for everything they can touch and there’s a buildup of sensations that threatens to rip them apart but feels like it’s gluing them back together.

It doesn’t last long.

(it could go on for the rest of the evening, the rest of the night and the day after and it would still feel like it’s not long enough)

Ollie’s head is on the crook of Andy’s neck and his hand is dirty but he brings it up and around Andy’s shoulders anyway, he hugs him and presses closer and stays there not minding the stickiness of their come in between them on their bellies. He stays there and he closes his eyes and he breathes Andy in like this, in his most raw state, decides he needs to remember his scent forever.

They’re both sweating all over, but there’s no time to think about it because there’s a clock counting down on them. There’s no time to think at all, there’s only time to savor it, time to cherish the most of it and try to burn it into their memories. There’s no time to ask for explanations, there’s no time for negotiations or discussions. There’s no time to think.

There’s no time to think about the way Andy’s arms wrap around Ollie’s waist and hold him tight and urgently, like he’s afraid someone is going to rip Ollie off of him. And Ollie’s heart catches on fire.

There is no time to think. 

There is only time to feel.


End file.
